Break Down the Walls (Working title)
by AlannaTCooper
Summary: Hermione attends a ministry fundraiser and realizes she's finally reached her breaking point when it comes to conforming and not making waves. Started as one-shot, but is growing into multi-chapter. *Dramione.* (Fair warning: I have many issues with Ron and they will surface in my writing;)
1. At the Fundraiser

A/N (Edited) This started as a one-shot that has been rattling around my brain for months. I can't seem to let it go, so it looks like it's going to turn int a longer fic. Changing the rating just in case for future chapters.

Inspired by the song "Castle" by Halsey. Disclaimer: I own nothing - Sadly, or Dramione would have been a done deal starting in book six.

Update: I was kindly informed that somewhere in the lengthy site agreement, which I of course read thoroughly and in detail (cough cough), it is stated that song lyrics are not allowed in a fic. Story is now updated with not a lyric in sight. Thanks for the heads up anonymous reviewer. ;)

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Another Ministry Fundraiser

The band was loud, playing some popular song about love potions. The chatter around her had turned into an incessant hum that she had been tuning out for a while now. She looked around. The Great Hall was decorated with floating candles, the ceiling charmed to resemble a night sky, like it had been so many times, while she attended the school. People were laughing and chatting, sampling the many tasty dishes that kept appearing on the tables around the hall.

Another year, another memorial gala. The witches and wizards surrounding her were parading around in fine dresses and robes, dancing, drinking, socializing. Placing kisses on cheeks while faking enthusiasm at greeting an old acquaintance. Pretending to be there for the good of war orphans and the reconstruction of ruined homes, but mostly present to be seen as important in society. She knew some people were here because they genuinely cared and wanted to make a difference. She could see Harry on the dance floor with Luna, her lovely long blond hair swaying as he spun her around. Ginny was across the room in an animated discussion with Oliver Wood, probably quidditch related. Then, somewhere in the crowd, she heard Ron's braying laugh, clearly trying to impress whatever which he was dating tonight, and she realized no amount of punch could make her feel better about tonight.

She hadn't wanted to come the first year. Or any subsequent year after. She had definitely not wanted to come tonight. Kingsley, Harry, Ginny, all of them telling her how her absence would make people talk, how it would be interpreted as criticism of the ministry and its efforts to rebuild had changed her mind.

"Did you see the article in The Prophet about…"

"Did you hear she…."

"Ron's new…."

Sure seemed like people were talking anyway. Instead of her absence, they dissected her clothes, her job, her breakup with Ron. Ron's affairs that somehow had become public knowledge. Why she hadn't been enough for him. Too smart? Too cold? Too little of something, too much of something else? Stilted pauses in conversations when she passed groups of people. Stares to see how she would react when Ron danced with his lovely, blond, non-bookish date.

Her seat at the small table felt a million miles away from her friends next to her. They were laughing, drinking. Reminiscing and celebrating the anniversary of the end of the war. She was quietly contemplating what she had done with her life to end up here, alone in a crowd of hundreds. And wondering how soon she could get out.

She looked around for an escape and saw him across the room, in a corner by himself. A condition of his pardon, she'd learned a few years ago, when she had wondered out loud why he bothered showing up when he was clearly unwanted. Apparently, he had to publicly show his support for the winning side by attending the annual fundraiser that raised money for witches and muggles alike. Show his previous friends and acquaintances that he distanced himself from his choices before and during the war. He came every year. They all shunned him every year. His former friends out of fear that if they associated with him, people might remember their families' choices too. His former enemies out of contempt; suddenly everyone forgot that they may also have wavered and questioned Dumbledore. History was so easily rewritten, and of course they had all been behind Dumbledore from the beginning, giving them a right to judge anyone who was unlucky enough to have been public about their mistakes. She found the demand that he come to this event cruel. It was a public punishment, an emotional flogging. Like stocks in the market square dressed in modern clothing. Punishment for choices made a decade ago, choices made by a scared teenage boy backed into a corner. This repeated humiliation seemed against everything she had fought for in a war for equality and against hate.

She stood abruptly. Hesitated for a split second, then started walking across the busy dance floor. She could hear her friends when they noticed. "Where is she going? What is she doing?" Ginny's excited soprano. Luna's calming slightly deeper voice. Harry's surprised tone.

People were staring. She was pretty sure they had expected a break-down. Tears. A fight perhaps. Definitely some hexing and hysterics. _I bet they hadn't expected this._ She straightened her back and smiled. She was Hermione Granger and she'd be damned if she sat there feeling lonely and sorry for herself. Or sat there and allowed society to determine who was worthy and who should be punished for ever.

There was so much pressure to conform, be who the wizarding world wanted her to be. A hero, someone people could put on a pedestal. Someone who should always make the safe, expected choices as to not ruin people's notion of who she was.

 _Be nice, be quiet, be traditional, don't have too many opinions, just be sweeter to Ron you're such a perfect couple, maybe if you were home more/ read less/ cooked better…_ The statements echoed in her head, a collection of some of the helpful suggestions she had been given in the last few months. Maybe even years as Ron publicly expressed his displeasure with her career aspirations and dreams. Couched as jokes of course.

It was obvious, the moment Malfoy noticed her walking towards him. Surprise, panic, fear flashed across his face in quick succession. He probably assumed she was coming over to hex him. Or spit on him. She had seen both happen to former death eaters' families after the war.

She reached him, and he looked up at her, his hand shaking slightly at the effort to not reach for a wand that wasn't there. There was no way the ministry would have allowed him to bring a wand in past security. Hers was safely tucked into her fancy hair-do.

"What are you doing here Granger? I…"

"Dance with me, Malfoy," she interrupted him. He stared at her hand reached out towards him.

"What?"

"Will you dance with me?" she repeated slower, enunciating each word.

"Granger have you lost your mind?!" His voice almost shook. "Or is this a joke? Not even my former friends will be seen with me." He paused. "What the hell is the Golden Trio's princess doing in the gutters with despicable death eaters?" He tried to smirk, but his voice carried too much pain and bitterness to make him sound as arrogant, as he was attempting to.

"The 'Golden Trio's princess' has had enough of trying to fit in and do what everyone expects, Malfoy. I'm done listening to everyone else. Now will you please dance with me?"

It might have been the please, she had added. Or loneliness. Or he was just as sick of the status quo as she was. She saw when determination overtook fear and hesitancy in his expression. He stood slowly, reached out and took her hand. Hesitating at each minute movement as if he still expected her to reveal that this was a prank, an attempt at humiliating him. His hand felt warm in hers. And for the first time in a long time, she felt like she had made the right choice.

They walked side by side from his corner, past the other tables, his hand still in hers. When they reached the dance floor, he hesitated, then placed his other hand on her waist and started moving to the music. She knew people were appalled. She could see the dropped jaws, the disgusted looks. She was aware of her friends when they danced past them, noticed out of the corner of her eye that they were gaping in shock. And in that moment, she couldn't have cared less.

He spun her in time with the music, moving in a traditional waltz to a modern song.

"Dance lessons." He must have sensed her unasked question. "Pure-blood privilege and all." His tone was bitter. All that privilege and look where his life had taken him. They danced in silence for a few moments, turning slowly as the waltz took them around the dance floor. Suddenly she laughed out loud. He stared at her, possibly wondering if she had in fact lost her mind.

"I think my 15-year-old self would have had a stroke trying to imagine a situation where I would be dancing with Draco Malfoy."

"I think my 15-year-old self would have questioned the sanity of anyone who came up with that scenario." The corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile. "What an absolute idiot that bloke was. You should probably have punched him more than that one time."

She snickered at his comment, and he smiled in response.

The song ended. He stopped moving, looking at her for guidance, his left hand still on her waist, his right still holding on to her hand.

"I don't think I should walk you back to your table, Granger. I might be fast, but not fast enough to avoid all the hexes that crowd looks ready to throw at me."

She turned slightly and looked at her friends. Harry was glaring, Ginny looked shocked and slightly appalled. Neville looked slightly nauseated. She could only imagine what they would say, when she returned to the table. Then she caught sight of Ron who was standing with his date, just to the left of the dance floor. The blond witch was clinging to his arm as if to ensure that everyone noticed that she was with a war hero. He was staring at them with obvious anger on his face.

She shrugged and turned back to face Malfoy. Screw Ron. Screw traditions, conventions, _expectations_. This dance had made her feel _happy_ for the first time in a long, long time. She looked up at Malfoy, who was watching her face, trying to figure out what she wanted.

"Any chance you have more room in your dance card?"

He laughed at that, a surprised sound that made her smile.

"They're all lining up, Granger, and you will probably have to fight someone, but I can possibly squeeze you in."

"Excellent. As your face might remember, I have a pretty good right hook, so bring it on." Hermione joked.

Draco's mouth quirked in a real smile, and he started moving in tune to the music again.


	2. On the Dance Floor

On the Dance Floor

It was strange, and it was awkward, dancing with Draco Malfoy. And in some strange way, it felt right; in a way Hermione hadn't felt right for a long time. She didn't register which songs the band played as they danced. She didn't hear the sounds of the people around or notice their stares. Just enjoyed moving to the music, enjoyed the feel of Malfoy's warm hand on her waist.

 _It's so nice to dance with a competent partner._ The uncharitable thought popped into her head.

Hermione loved dancing. Had loved it since she was a little girl and her dad had her stand on his feet, while he waltzed around the living room, her mom laughing at their antics. Thanks to Voldemort, her school years hadn't exactly given her a lot of chances to enjoy dancing, but after the war ended, she had been so excited to go dancing again.

She had tried to get Ron to go dancing with her. The few times she had convinced him to go, he had whined and complained the entire time. If she managed to actually get him on a dance floor, he had stomped around, stepping on her feet, all the while telling her how bored he was and that he'd rather be anywhere else. _Never mind all the stupid quidditch games I sat through for his sake._ And never mind the fact that he apparently didn't mind dancing now, if all the pictures in the Daily Prophet's celebrity spotting pages were anything to go by. _So I guess it was just dancing with me that was the problem._ The thought made her sad. She had tried so damn hard to be the woman he wanted to be with. And she had never been enough for Ron.

Suddenly Malfoy spun her around faster, keeping step with the music, and startled her out of her train of thought. Hermione gave a surprised laugh. Grabbed his arm a bit tighter and noticed with some insane part of her brain how nice his biceps felt under the dress robes. He wasn't buff. If anything, he seemed a bit gaunt. Not quite underweight, just a little thin and worn out. Tired maybe, if a body could convey that just by its stature. But he still felt strong as he effortlessly led her around the dance floor. Oddly enough dancing in his arms made her feel safe. _I wonder if this is a delayed reaction to some curse that has hit me at some point?_ Her mouth quirked in a half smile.

"What's funny, Granger?"

Right. Like she was going to tell him that she liked his biceps and he made her feel safe. She snorted out loud imagining his face.

"Nothing. Just…this seems a little surreal, is all."

Looking down at her face, he quirked an eyebrow at her. "I'll take surreal any day. The real real isn't as nice as this."

She didn't know what to say to that. She wasn't quite ready to admit out loud that her real wasn't as nice as this surreal moment either.

When the music stopped, and the band announced they were taking a break, it felt like she was coming back from a different reality. The sounds from the other guests crashed back into her ears, the chatter buzzing all around them, glasses clinking. Someone dropped something behind her. Someone else laughed. Hermione shook her head. She felt oddly at a loss, like she was suddenly missing something vital.

She looked at Malfoy standing next to her, his hands in his pockets. He was looking down at the floor. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders tight. He looked about as lost as she felt. And he looked like he was bracing himself for something. Something dark. Negative. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. She had to fight the urge to reach out and brush a lock of hair out of his eyes.

She shook her head, as if trying to get rid of the errant thoughts. This was nuts. Where would she even go from here. How did one wrap up dancing with a childhood nemesis? How did one wrap up having _enjoyed_ dancing with her childhood nemesis?

She wondered again if this urge, she suddenly had to spend time with Draco Malfoy, was a symptom of some kind of mental break. Even if she ignored the war, his family, and everything they had supported- which in and of itself was pretty darn hard -this was the guy who had mocked her mercilessly all through school. And not just her. Her friends. Family. Name calling. Bullying. Rubbing his wealth and privilege in their faces. _And then of course there's all the other stuff too…_

She hesitated. The right thing to do was probably to thank him for the dance and say goodnight. And never speak of this again. And possibly seek counseling.

"Uhm, Malfoy….I…"

"It's all right Granger." He looked up. The corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. "I don't know what possessed you to dance with me, but I want you to know I appreciate it. It sure made this fundraiser better than anything else I've had to attend for a very long time. And…" He paused. "Granger, I…" Another pause, as if the words he needed wouldn't quite come to him.

She looked Malfoy. Noticed his grey eyes searching her face as if he was looking for something in her expression. Over his shoulder, she spotted her friends at their table, every one of them staring at her and Malfoy. Going back over there would just be fun, wouldn't it? Questions galore. Probably accusations. Yeah, the interrogations would be such a blast.

"I…I was such a wanker in school. And after…The rubbish I said to you. Things I did…There's not even a way to tell you that I'm so bloody sorr…"

"Hey, Malfoy, I think I am going to ditch this place and go somewhere to get a pint." She interrupted.

Briefly her mind revisited idea that she was having a mental break, and then she shrugged it off. She couldn't remember last time she had enjoyed herself this much. _What the bloody heck have I been doing with my life that the happiest I've been in ages has been dancing with Malfoy?_ But that hadn't been all of it, had it? Shrugging off the pressure to conform, to do what was expected had made her feel _good_. And a little high on freedom. But yeah, dancing with him had made her feel happy too.

 _In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose._ She took a deep breath.

"Do you want to see how the other side lives? I know a great little muggle pub in London."


	3. An Old Pub, London

Chapter 3—An Old Pub, London

The moment, the words were out of her mouth, Hermione panicked. _What did I just say? Oh my freaking…_

"What?" Malfoy looked utterly stunned.

She didn't want to stay at the fundraiser for another minute. She definitely didn't want to go back to her friends and have to explain, why she had been dancing with Draco Malfoy. But she had no freaking idea what had possessed her to invite Malfoy to a pub. A muggle pub. Malfoy.

Malfoy was looking at her, his face blank. She was surprised he didn't look disgusted, actually. Or that he hadn't laughed out loud.

"It's ok, Malfoy, it was just a…" Her voice tapered off. She didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to explain her momentary insanity. "It was nice dancing with you. Have a wonderful evening."

She turned to walk away, determined to make it to the apparition point before her friends caught up with her and started the inquisition.

"Granger, wait!" Malfoy's voice faltered. Hermione turned around, expected him to throw an insult at her for suggesting that a Malfoy would even consider visiting a muggle pub.

He hesitated a second and then blurted out, "I'd like that very much. But I can't."

Hermione gave him a half smile. "No of course not. It was a silly suggestion." She started turn away, aiming for a quick get-away before she was utterly humiliated.

"No, wait." Malfoy reached for her and briefly touched her shoulder before he let his hand drop again. She turned towards him and lifted an eyebrow in question.

"I mean, I can't leave." His voice was tight, riddled with bitterness. "The ministry doesn't allow me to leave any required function, until a ministry employee signs my departure slip. I physically can't apparate out without that signature. And since no one ever wants to sign it and help the death eater, I get to stay till the end. Or usually later."

Hermione blanched, her own embarrassment forgotten. _Of course_ they'd make him sit around as long as possible to make sure he had been humiliated enough for one night. She had thought it was ridiculous to demand that he attend the fundraiser as part of his "rehabilitation," but this was beyond ludicrous. Bloody self-righteous wankers. This entire charade was only designed to shame Malfoy, making him wait and beg to be allowed to leave.

She wondered what else the powers that be had decided he should do as part of his "parole." Hermione didn't have to be a lawyer to see how a punishment like this wouldn't build any bridges. Wouldn't mend their society after the war. Instead it would breed resentment, anger. Build walls, not bridges.

She looked back at the ballroom, filled with witches and wizards celebrating the anniversary of the end of the war, and felt furious. She knew of a few the people in magical law, who would revel at the opportunity to put Malfoy down in an attempt at making it look like, they'd been stalwarts in the fight against Voldemort.

"That is the dumbest thing I've heard all night. And I had to listen to a twenty-minute lecture about the dangers of wrackspurts from Luna earlier. Apparently, their presence can make people forget where they put their keys or something." Realizing she was rambling, Hermione stuck her hand out. "Give it to me."

"Give what to you?" Malfoy looked a bit apprehensive about her rambled sentence and furious expression.

"Keep up, Malfoy." She snapped. "Give me the bloody paper. I'm a ministry employee. I will sign the damn thing." She pulled her wand out of her hair-do. "No strings attached. You can go home or go get sloshed with your friends, whatever you want. But I am not going to be part of this nonsense!"

She had a feeling that if she had looked at him with pity or even kindness, he may not have handed her the slip of parchment, but something in her angry expression must have convinced him to give it to her.

"Is this your latest project now, Granger? Like spit or whatever you called your club in school." Malfoy's attempt at hiding his embarrassment with bravado held none of the sting, his insults used to carry in school.

"S.P.E.W." Hermione spelled out through clenched teeth. "And no, this isn't a 'project'. This is me being absolutely done with people. And their idiocy. For the foreseeable future." She signed the parchment with an angry movement of her wand and handed it back to Malfoy. Forget the pub. She needed to go home, put on some comfy PJs and read something to distract her from how stupid people could be. She turned to walk towards the apparition point again.

"So where is this pub then?" His voice made her stop in her tracks. She looked back at Malfoy. He smiled hesitantly at her. "Maybe we can get sloshed and forget about people's idiocy together?"

A moment's hesitation, wondering what she was doing. What he was doing. Then she shut her apprehension down. _Maybe I can build a bridge tonight. Or break down a wall._ She smiled back at Malfoy. "Let's go then."

Forty-five minutes later they were seated at a table in her favorite little pub near her apartment in London. She had shrunk Malfoy's dress robes and stuck them in her purse, and he was now wearing black pants and a white button-down shirt. He was blending in with the muggles around them in a way that was wildly disconcerting to Hermione. She didn't know what she had expected, but it wasn't him looking like any other guy in a pub on a Friday night. Well not any other guy. A very decent looking one if she was honest with herself, which she was trying very hard not to be. He had spent the first few minutes looking around the pub in some kind of wide-eyed shock or wonder, and she had watched him quietly, wondering what he was thinking of his first exposure to this many muggles. He was now eyeing the pint of beer in front of him with obvious distrust.

"Come on Malfoy, it's not going to kill you." She teased. "If I wanted to poison you, I would have been a lot stealthier about leaving the party with you tonight." The wizard at the gala apparition point had stared unabashedly at them as they approached the designated spot, and she was pretty certain, it hadn't taken long for everyone to hear that Hermione Granger left the gala with Draco Malfoy.

"You shouldn't have done that, Granger."

"No, you're right. I should have been much more discreet. The better to murder you my dear." She said the last sentence in a squeaky voice as if imitating an old lady, and Malfoy unexpectedly laughed out loud.

"If that is your best big bad wolf impersonation, you should probably not give up your day job for a career on the stage."

He had a nice laugh. Hermione took a big sip of her beer. _First it's his biceps, then his laugh. Seems like a bit of a slippery slope here. What's next I wonder?_ She shook her head to stop this train of thought. She did NOT need to think about what else might be nice about Malfoy.

"Thanks a lot Malfoy. Let's hear your impression of the big bad wolf then if mine is so bad."

Malfoy looked like he might actually give it a go, but then he got serious again. "No, I mean, you shouldn't have signed the bloody slip. Or left with me. I'll ruin your reputation." He paused, and she waited for a joke. About her reputation, about anything. Instead Malfoy just continued in that same quiet voice. "You don't need to be dragged down by me, Granger. I've done enough damage." He was looking down at the beer in his hands, and his self-loathing was obvious in his voice. Hermione was quiet for a moment. She understood guilt. Felt it when she considered the things she ought to have done differently, during the war, after the war. And she knew that her mistakes probably were minimal compared to the choices Malfoy had made to stay alive with Voldemort breathing down his neck.

Luna had helped Hermione slowly move past some of her issues. Talking to a muggle therapist had helped too. She'd told him that she'd "been in the war", and he had assumed she meant somewhere in the Middle East. But she still felt the weight of her choices at times. Like when she wasn't sure if her parents looked at her a bit differently because they feared she might spell them again. Or when she thought about how she had taken time to snog Ron during the final battle, while her friends were fighting or their lives. One of the lessons Dr. Noel had tried to help her learn was that she had to own her choices and move on. That she should let go of guilt. She was still working on that.

Feeling reckless, she spoke. "As I told you earlier tonight, I think I've earned the right to make my own choices. Besides," she paused and winked at him, "this could all be part of a very convoluted plan to poison you with muggle beer and dump you in a dark alley somewhere in muggle London."

Malfoy didn't respond for a moment. His gray eyes were dark in the dim light of the pub, his jaw clenched again. He took a deep breath as if to argue with her but reconsidered.

"All right, Granger, let's taste this beer then." He took a sip and looked surprised. "This is actually pretty good." Taking another sip, Malfoy relaxed a bit and looked around the pub. "You don't think people will notice when you poison me?"

"I'll be very discreet." She smiled. "Besides, I work with potions daily and I'm pretty good at what I do. I'll make it look like natural causes."

"I bet you could, Granger." He smiled and lifted his glass in salute. "To potions mastery then."

The conversation flowed easily to her job. She appreciated his insights and being able to discuss complicated potion recipes with someone who understood and was interested. Ron had never wanted to hear about her job. _Oi, Hermione, it's like being back in school again. Spare me the twaddle, please._

She wasn't sure why she was comparing Malfoy to Ron, except that it felt so ridiculously surreal to be in a pub with Malfoy, having a good time. She couldn't remember last time she had had a good time being out with a guy.

Hermione was giving Malfoy a detailed description of an issue, she was having with one of her current projects, when he interrupted her.

"Wait, what was the name of that potion again."

"It's called Medella Manibus. Basically, it's supposed to help reduce fevers in certain illnesses with hardly any side effects. I just can't figure out how to make it stable. Every time I make it, it's fine for a little while and then it curdles." Hermione let out a frustrated sigh.

"I've seen that one. In a book at the manor. I remember trying it when my mother was suffering from repeated fevers, and I was looking for something to help her." Malfoy scrunched his brows together. "There is something about the wand movement…I think one of my ancestors tweaked it, and it worked to make the potion stable. Blast, I can't remember right now. I can lend you the book though, if that helps."

"I have the book. And I've tried everything. Can you show me the wand movement?" She leaned eagerly closer to him. They spent the next ten minutes discussing the original versus the altered wand movements, with Draco trying to remember the right swing and Hermione trying to replicate whatever he remembered.

"This isn't going to work," Malfoy finally said. "We need the actual potion and the hand-written notes, or we'll never get it right." He looked at Hermione. She had been taking notes on a napkin and using a straw to practice wand movements.

"Maybe I could…" He seemed unsure how to proceed. Hermione looked up from her napkin notes. Malfoy's voice tapered off as she looked at him.

Hermione wasn't sure what led her to the next moment of recklessness. Yes, she had been struggling with this potion for months now. Yes, she had had a beer. (One!) Yes, she had already broken conventions by dancing with Malfoy and inviting him to the pub. And yes, she was having a brilliant time and had been all night, thanks to this man at her table.

But none of that explained why Hermione Granger, who had spent the last many years trying to do exactly what society expected of her, looked at Malfoy and said, "Hey, why don't you come over to my flat on Sunday? I should have most of the ingredients for the potion there and we can try it out."

"You'd invite me to your flat?" Malfoy looked at her, and shook his head. "How many beers did you have Granger?"

"Malfoy, I don't think you understand how long I have been staring at my potion curdling every single time I make it."

Malfoy looked at her with a perplexed look. "I know you want to get this potion right, but seriously Granger, have you lost your marbles completely? The entire wizarding community thinks I'm worse than the black plague." His voice was flat, as he continued, "Being seen with me at the gala tonight will have polluted your stellar war hero reputation, but you can probably recover from that. Tell them you did actually plan to poison me or something." He took a shaky breath, steadying himself. "But you can't invite me to your flat."

Hermione looked steadily at him. "You might find, Malfoy, that I am decidedly fed up with the word 'can't'."

"What if I fall back into my death eater ways and kill you Granger."

"I am confident in my own wand abilities, Malfoy. Killing me won't be all that easy," she said coolly. "Besides, finally being able to get this potion right is worth the risk." She lifted her glass and saluted him with it, mirroring his earlier movement. "To potions mastery, right?"

Malfoy watched her for a moment, his gray eyes shining with something she couldn't quite interpret. "I suppose the girl, who famously said that being expelled was worse than death, _would_ risk her life for knowledge." Another shaky breath. "I want to help you Granger, I really do, but…" He paused, and Hermione noticed him rubbing his left forearm through his sleeve.

She quickly scribbled her address on the napkin with her potions notes and handed it to him. "When you decide you're ready to break down some walls, let me know. I'm done being told what I can and can't do." Hermione got up and grabbed her purse. She smiled at him. "Thanks for a lovely evening Malfoy. I've had a good time. The directions will appear on the napkin, should you decide to use them." She walked away, feeling reckless. And happy.


	4. Hermione's Flat, London

Chapter 4—Hermione's Flat

Draco had been pacing back and forth in front of the old apartment building for the last fifteen minutes. The neighborhood was a far cry from Malfoy manor or any of the homes of the families, his parents had been friendly with over the years. The tall buildings lined up on both sides of the streets. They were well-maintained, and the streets were clean, but it looked so completely different from countryside manors, wizard vacation spots in France, bloody heck, even Diagon Alley in the middle of London looked nothing like this part of town. The streets weren't busy, but there were still people out walking, enjoying the May sunshine, looking happy or purposeful. Draco had put his old prejudices about muggles behind him a long time ago—wasn't even sure if he'd ever actually believed it or just parroted his father's beliefs—so he knew his misgivings weren't about blood status or some other such nonsense. He just felt like he didn't belong in this neighborhood with happy families and young couples, cheerful Londoners in light summer dresses and short sleeves. Felt like he was tainting it almost.

Granger's directions had included tips about watching out for cars once he moved out of the quiet back alley with the apparition spot, she had told him to use, but walking down the street, he felt strange. He was pretty certain it wasn't because of the muggles. Or even the occasional speeding car. More the fact that no one stared or pointed fingers. No one hissed angry insults at him in this neighborhood. He knew full well that he had made some terrible choices during—and before—the war. He had just honestly thought that things would be better with time. Assumed somehow that he would be allowed to make amends once he had realized how wrong he had been. However, a decade after the war, the wizarding world still labeled him as a villain, and he tried to avoid being in public as much as he could.

Perhaps they were right though. Perhaps there was no redemption for someone, who hadn't stood up to Voldemort, someone who had followed his orders no matter how twisted they were. Draco's mother sometimes brought it up. _You were a CHILD for Merlin's sake. Why can't they understand that?_ But Draco didn't have to look far to be reminded that other children had made different choices. Potter. Diggory. Longbottom, risking his life to take out Voldemort's nasty snake. Even Weasley with all his shortcomings had dared stand against Voldemort. Draco's mind flashed to the moment that haunted him most of all; Granger writhing in pain on the floor of his sitting room, while Draco's own aunt tortured her relentlessly. Granger refusing to give up any information, even under the Cruciatus Curse. Screaming.

And him standing by doing nothing.

He shook his head to dispel the memory and walked back towards the front door of Granger's building. He was here now. Perhaps he could earn a fraction of redemption by helping her figure out her potion.

Draco stopped at number 67 and looked down at the address in his hand for the 20th time. Wondered once more at the astonishing ability a witch or wizard would have to possess to wandlessly add a directions charm to paper. Or in this case, napkin. He looked up at the apartment building in front of him again. He needed to make a decision before someone called the muggle police on him for loitering. He reached for the door handle, and quickly stepped into the cool stairway of the building before he lost his nerve. The steps led him up past several floors with flats on the right and left. Granger's directions said top floor on the left, so he wound his way up the narrow stairs until he couldn't get any higher. The door on the right had a cheerful artificial wreath with flowers and some sort of small woodland creature. He didn't want to get close enough to see if it was a squirrel or rabbit. He turned to the door on the left side of the stairwell, and hesitated.

He wanted to help her. Wanted to make amends for past mistakes. Part of him also recognized that it would be bloody good for him, if it became known that Draco Malfoy had helped Hermione Granger produce a healing potion. And yet another part of him just wanted to recapture that feeling he had had spending a few hours with the Gryffindor witch. He'd enjoyed dancing with her. He had definitely enjoyed the intellectual challenge of problem-solving potions, enjoyed having someone listen to his opinion again and value his help.

He took a deep breath and gave the door a quick knock.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Maybe she wasn't even home; her casual invite had been to come over sometime Sunday. They had never set an actual time to meet. _Maybe Hermione Granger didn't actually invite you to her flat, you wanker._ The thought that this was a trap popped into his mind, and he reached for his wand in the inside pocket of his blazer. Just then, the door in front of him opened. He froze, his hand on his wand.

"Malfoy! I wasn't sure you'd actually show." Granger sounded happy. She had her curly hair piled into a messy type of bun on top of her head and was wearing leggings that showed of a pair of rather nice legs. Which he shouldn't have been noticing. Draco quickly moved his glance to her face. Granger gave him a smile that made him feel a peculiar swoop in his stomach.

"Please come in!" She stepped aside and waved him into her flat.

Draco stepped towards the door and stopped. "Uhm, Granger, I don't know if I can." He waved his hand at the shimmering ward he could see around her door. Subconsciously, he rubbed his left forearm. He had made the mistake of trying to enter through wards before only to find that they were spelled to keep out anyone carrying the death mark. The pain had been excruciating. The gift that kept on giving, right?

"Why?" She glanced down where he was rubbing his arm, and Draco quickly dropped his hand.

"Oh, I see. It's ok Malfoy, if I let you in, you'll be fine." Granger reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him into a small entryway through the warded door opening. She let go of his hand once they were inside. Malfoy looked around at the cramped entryway. Granger had a couple of coats and some sweaters hanging off a hook on one side and shoes in a pile on the floor. He wasn't sure, what he had been expecting her apartment to look like. Perhaps less messy than the entryway indicated. She always seemed so organized, he had somehow assumed that carried over to every aspect of her life.

Draco felt the awkward silence press in on him and spoke quickly. "Is it a bad time? Perhaps I should have owled you first." He felt stilted and odd, not quite sure what to say to explain why he had shown on her doorstep without any advance warning. Expecting her to turn him away.

"No, it's perfect." Granger smiled at him again, eyes sparkling with excitement. "I was trying to do some more research to find some clue as to what to do and getting nowhere. I'm beyond ready for another set of eyes." She waved him from entryway into a small living room. It was cluttered like the hallway, but cozy. Sunlight streamed in through a large bay window, and the small space looked like it had been well-lived in. Not surprisingly, there were books everywhere; on a huge bookcase, in the window sill of the large bay window, and on the coffee table she had stacks of potions books with various bookmarks. Several of the books were open and from the multiple tea mugs and open notebook with numerous notes, it appeared that Granger had been immersed in research for a while.

"Make yourself comfortable, Malfoy," Granger interrupted his study of her living room. "I'll go put up some tea?" The last part sounded like a question and Malfoy felt some relief that she may be as uncertain about what they were doing here as he was.

"Tea would be nice, thanks." He watched her walk into the kitchen and sat down in a worn wingback chair by the coffee table, suddenly needing a distraction from the witch that had been occupying his thoughts since Friday night. He grabbed her notes and began reading through them.

"I brought the potions book from the manor library," he called out to Granger. She immediately came bounding back into the living room.

"You did? Let me see it?" His tea forgotten, Granger eagerly took the book from Malfoy and immediately began perusing the notes in the margins of the Medella Manibus recipe. Her head was so close to his that he could smell whatever fruity shampoo she had used. He wondered if he should move away for propriety's sake. Then he wondered what her hair would feel like if he touched it. The thought made him shove the book at her and jump up.

"I'll go grab the tea, yeah? You keep reading." Granger looked up at him in surprise at his sudden movement, but the lure of finally getting the answers she had been looking for was too strong, and her head was bent over the book again a moment later.

Draco walked into her small kitchen and braced himself on the counter for a few seconds. He had no business being in Granger's apartment. No business smelling her hair, enjoying her smiles. His mind flashed back to another moment in the war ten years ago; The Golden Trio saving him from Fiendfyre. And then Granger running into battle at Hogwarts, while he was running the opposite way. She always did the right thing. And he always…didn't. _I have to get out of here._ Draco turned towards the door to leave and was almost run over by Granger sprinting into the kitchen.

"I found the note about changing the wand movement!" She waved the book at his face. "Here, hold this! It's on the page on the left there, see?" Granger pointed at an illustration in the margin. "I can't quite tell what the note there says though. I think it's some old form of French. Can you translate it?"

She was almost breathless from delight at being so close to solving her potions problem. Draco opened his mouth to tell her he was leaving and couldn't get himself to ruin her happiness. _I owe her that much at least._

"Let me grab a quill and paper." When he walked back into the kitchen, Granger had grabbed a small copper cauldron and was pulling ingredients from a cupboard, muttering to herself.

"What…" he began and was interrupted by Granger slamming a cupboard door closed and opening another.

"Ugh! I thought I had all the ingredients but of course I'm missing a couple." Her face was scrunched up in annoyance. "Thankfully, it's just a couple of common ingredients, chamomile and sage. What time is it?"

Draco felt almost dizzy at the rapid speed she was firing words at him.

"Uhm, I, it's…"

"Ok, phew, it's not two o'clock yet. Come on Malfoy!" She sped past him out of the kitchen.

"Granger, what the hell are you on about?" He felt out of his depth, the exuberant witch making him awkward and tongue-tied.

Granger popped her head back into the kitchen. "If we leave now, we can make it to the local farmers market. Come on!"

He had only planned on dropping off the book for her, never on staying to help. Or drink tea. Or heading out to get potions ingredients together. For some reason, he still followed Granger into the small entryway by her front door. She was balancing on one foot, pulling on a converse shoe with one hand while reaching for her purse with the other. She wobbled, and Draco grabbed her elbow to steady her.

"Thanks, Malfoy. Now let's go!" She locked the front door behind them with a quick flick of her wand and hurried down the narrow staircase.

Granger had speed-walked them through the neighborhood, and they made it to a local farmer's market before it shut down. She headed straight to a booth, where a middle-aged man was jovially chatting with an older lady, while wrapping up some vegetables for her. Draco looked around. The market was winding down, but there were still people at a lot of the stalls, shopping for fruit, vegetables, honey…A kid walked right by Draco, licking an ice-cream cone and the harassed looking mother gave him an apologetic smile as he quickly stepped back to avoid having ice-cream smeared on his pants. He was struck once more at the odd feeling of being in a place where no one knew him. Or judged him.

"Malfoy?"

"Hm?" He realized that Granger must have said something to him, because she and the man in the stand were looking at him.

"I asked, if you happen to remember if there were any quantity changes to your uncle's recipe."

Draco looked at her in confusion for a moment and then realized she was speaking of the potion. "Oh, right. No, no quantity changes."

The seller smiled at Granger and counted up her total. "Who is your guest, Ms. Granger? I don't remember seeing him with you here before."

Draco froze. What would she say? He couldn't imagine Granger would start a scene at a farmer's market and introduce him as the wanker, who bullied her at school, but he sure as hell didn't think she'd let anyone live in the misconception that she was hanging out with Draco Malfoy for her personal enjoyment.

"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Stuttle. I was so focused on which ingredients I needed that I completely forgot to introduce you." She turned to Draco and smiled. "This is…" A tiny hesitation, perhaps only noticeable to Draco. "…My friend, Draco Malfoy."

Mr. Stuttle reached a hand out to him. "Lovely to meet ya, Mr. Malfoy. Always a pleasure to meet any friend of Ms. Granger's." Draco shook the farmer's hand, but his mind was elsewhere. _Friend?!_ When was the last time someone had called him that? Hell, even before the war, had he even had friends then? Or just hangers-on? Obviously, Granger couldn't be serious, but her easy smile and company made him feel comfortable like he didn't remember feeling in a very long time. Made him feel like a tiny part of the wall around him was breaking down, letting in a breeze of fresh air.

They spent the rest of the afternoon cutting up herbs and stirring the potion and discussing the possible reasons why the changes to the recipe worked. Granger raised the question of how the original author had kept the potion stable without those changes and decided that more research was required. Her love of learning made him smile.

As they were nearing the end of the many steps in the recipe, they were standing close together by the cauldron to make sure they could both see the potion and the book at the same time, taking care to painstakingly follow all the alternative instructions. The steam from the bubbling potion made Granger's hair even curlier and more out of control than usual, curly tendrils escaping her loose bun. She kept pushing a particularly insistent curl out of her eyes, too distracted by the potion to pin it back into the bun. When Granger almost stabbed him in the eye, because she was using her hand with the wand in it to push back her hair, Draco grabbed her hand.

"Stop Granger! If you don't poke me in the face with that, you'll manage to take your own eye out. Hold still for a second." He reached for her stubborn curl with his other hand and carefully tucked it under the rubber band that was holding her bun together.

"There."

His gaze fell from her hair to her face, staring up at him, her brown eyes wide. He suddenly realized how close they were standing. And that he was still holding her other hand. He was aware of the feeling of her hand in his. Aware of the proximity of her body, his hand touching her hair. He let his hand trail down the side of her face gently and her breath hitched. Her skin was so soft. His fingertips tingled, where he was touching her. He couldn't look away from her lips, her perfectly shaped mouth. It was almost like he wasn't controlling his own body, and he leaned closer towards her. She should be pulling away. Or slapping him. But she leaned closer to him instead. He slid his hand gently down her face and onto her neck.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

Draco jumped back in shock, and Granger dropped her wand on the floor, causing it to emit a few sparks.

"What the bloody hell…?!" Heart pounding, he looked around, trying to figure out where the loud noise was coming from.

"For the love of Merlin's bald head! It's the timer for adding the sage to the potion!" Panicked, Granger picked up her wand and looked around for the bowl with chopped sage. She found it, quickly added it to the potion and stirred the requisite number of times. Then she finally pushed the little contraption sitting on the kitchen counter. Silence filled the little kitchen.

"I, uh,…" Granger began.

"I have to go." Draco grabbed his wand and his blazer that he had thrown over the back of a kitchen chair. "There is only one step left, and we've done all the changes that were added, so you should be good to go from here, Granger." He knew he was rambling, but he didn't want to give her a chance to start yelling. It was probably only a matter of time before she grabbed her wand and hexed him to the next world. He walked quickly towards the door. "Just keep the book until you don't need it anymore, all right?"

He didn't wait for her to say anything, just ran down the stairs and headed towards the apparition point. Hurrying down the street he felt hollow. He had no right. None. No right to touch her. To be in her home even.

In the little alley, he stepped onto the apparition spot and turned clockwise. Even through the familiar uncomfortable tugging feeling through his gut, his fingertips still tingled.


	5. Malfoy Manor

a/n: I'm leaving town for the holidays tonight, so this chapter is pretty short, but I couldn't resist Dindore's plea in the reviews. Happy Christmas ;)

Also, I am thinking i will need to change the rating to M. My muse is making some demands that I don't think will work in the T rating. I hope that's not going to ruin reading for too many people...

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Chapter 5—Malfoy Manor

The sunshine from last weekend was a distant memory as the British summer rain was making the skies gray and the rooms of the manor darker than usual. Draco's week had been painfully slow-moving, each day dragging on into the next. Malfoy Enterprises, while a shell of its former glory, still kept him somewhat busy, but his mind wasn't on finances and deals. Instead, his brain had been stuck on a loop, repeating the scene in Granger's kitchen over and over again. The bubbling cauldron. The smell of chamomile all around them. The softness of her cheek. The feeling of her curl as he had moved it. Her wide eyes staring up at him. Had she been scared? Disgusted? _Interested?_ He dismissed the last option every time it snuck its way past his defenses. One thing was acting like a complete tosser after she had asked for his help with a bloody work project. Another thing entirely to start having delusions of Granger enjoying his company, his touch.

 _And then you ran away from yet another fight, Draco. Your usual cowardice rearing its head yet again._ The voice in his head sounded a lot like his father this time. He had spent his entire childhood being put down for various reasons but being a coward had come up quite a bit. Ironic then that his father had tried to avoid imprisonment by claiming he had been too scared for his family to resist Voldemort. Perhaps it was even true, although he couldn't remember a single time his father had done anything for anyone that wasn't powered entirely by self-interest.

In the end, pretending to be a coward had cost Lucius Malfoy his life when another death eater had stabbed him to death in Azkaban for his claims that he hadn't actually supported the Dark Lord.

Draco threw down the parchment he was holding onto the desk in front of him and sighed in frustration. He had been working to clean up his father's business deals since he took over the company and he was still knee-deep in backwash from illegal business deals and everything else Lucius had left behind. And of course, it didn't matter how hard he was trying to prove that he was different from his father, the ministry continued to run audits and exams. Judging from the smug looks Percy Weasley and his crew gave Draco every time they made him jump through more hoops, Draco was fairly certain they mostly just enjoyed disrupting his efforts at making something good of Malfoy Enterprises.

Maybe he should take a break and go see if the library at the manor had any other potions books, Granger might be able to use. _And we're back to Granger again._ Damn it whole mess with Granger was screwing with his head. He couldn't get the damn witch out of his mind. Last night he had tossed and turned for hours, and when he finally did fall asleep, the nightmares returned with a vengeance. He tiredly dropped his face into his hands and rubbed his eyes.

A determined knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Plinky is sorry to interrupt Master Malfoy's work but there is someone here to see master." The house elf looked at him with concern as she stepped into his office to give him the message. "Pardon the saying so, Master Malfoy, but Plinky thinks Master should not be seeing someones. Master needs something to eat. And to go to sleep."

She put her fists on her tiny hips and stared him down. Draco tried to hide his smile. Plinky had been with their family for several years before the war, and after the elf liberation legislation had been passed, she had chosen to stay on with the family. She had taken it upon herself to take care of Draco, which apparently involved a lot of bossing him around.

"Thank you, Plinky. I will eat a little later. Who is here to see me?"

"It is Master Nott who is being here and requesting time." For a brief moment, Draco's stomach dropped at the thought of Nott senior being in his house again. He had no pleasant memories of his father's cronies. But no, Nott Senior was still in Azkaban. It had to be Theo. They hadn't really spent any time together after the war and as soon as Theo's probation had ended five years ago, he had left for the United States.

Theo was shown in a few minutes later. The lanky, dark-haired wizard looked around at the room, Draco had turned into an office for himself, refusing to use his father's old office.

"Nice digs, Malfoy." Theo drawled.

"Nott." Draco wasn't exactly excited to see Theo. They had been cordial enough at school, but never hung out much. Theo had kind of kept to himself, and Draco—well Draco had worked hard at being the Slytherin prince, having a following, doing exactly what his father expected of him. "What can I do for you?"

"Just thought I'd stop in. For old times' sake, you know."

Draco quirked an eyebrow at that. "Really?"

Theo was quiet for a moment. "No, not really." He slumped over a bit and looked down at the floor. "My mother died. I came back for the funeral services this morning."

"Shite, Theo, I'm sorry."

"No, it's…" Theo took a deep breath. "She kicked me out, you know. Told me I wasn't welcome in her home anymore." He looked up at Draco.

"I don't even know how to feel. I should be sad, right? I mean, it's my mother! But I just feel…hollow."

" _Mrs. Malfoy. Draco." The ministry employee looked at the paper in his hand as if to confirm facts." I've been sent to inform you that Lucius Malfoy died in Azkaban yesterday."_

 _Narcissa gasped and sank down onto a chair. "Died? But, how?" She wrung her hands, her face pale and wan._

" _I'm told there was an altercation and another inmate stabbed him with a makeshift shank." The ministry worker quickly put his papers into his briefcase. His face clearly showed that he didn't think Lucius Malfoy's death was a great loss. "Well, I'm off. Thank you for your time." He walked away quickly, grabbing his hat from the house elf by the door._

 _Draco turned to leave the room as well._

" _Draco, darling." Narcissa called out after him. "I know you had your differences, but he was your father…"_

" _Differences, mother?!" He had scoffed at her, mouth quirked in a bitter smirk. "Is that how we're referring to it now? The beatings, the punishments, the bloody Cruciatus!? Over and over again? Differences?!" He had practically been yelling at his mother, who had blanched at his rage._

" _Well, you know how hard it was for him with the Dark Lord living in our home."_

 _Draco's rage turned ice cold. "This was my life long before the Dark Lord moved in, Mother. That just gave Father another reason to punish his incompetent son." He stalked out and slammed the door to the sitting room behind him. His father was dead, and he felt no sorrow. Just relief._

"I didn't know that you left for the States because you were kicked out. Damn mate. What happened? Why did she kick you out?"

"She demanded I leave as soon as my parole was over after…You know what, it doesn't matter. I want to go get absolutely sloshed and forget today completely." Theo looked at Draco. "And I didn't want to drink alone. I couldn't think of anyone else to drag along. Or any places that weren't full of wizards."

"Well, as it so happens, I know a great muggle pub." Draco stood and grabbed his jacket. "Let's go."

Theo looked stunned at that for a moment. "How do _you_ know a muggle pub? Actually, bugger that. Let's go get wasted."

Draco groaned and tried to figure out where he was without moving his head. He blinked against the bright light coming through a window on his right. It had to be midday or so judging from the position of the sun. He slowly oriented himself. Right. He was in his room at the manor, sprawled out on his bed in the same clothes he'd worn to the pub last night. The last thing he remembered was stumbling home through the early morning after leaving Theo by the hotel he was staying at. He and Theo had had a surprisingly good time together, and by the time they parted, Draco had been much too drunk to apparate but had done so anyway, stumbling into his bed at four am.

He tried to sit up and gave up when the room started spinning. Apparently, muggle whisky packed a decent punch after all. When they got to the pub, Granger had taken him to the week prior, Theo had pulled out a wad of muggle money from gods know where, and they quickly figured out how to order what they wanted. Muggle pubs weren't that different, really, they all had the same purpose after all.

He and Theo had gotten sloshed, relived memories from Hogwarts, and ragged on the professors who had given them a hard time. At some point during the night, the war had come up and both men had fallen silent.

"When your parole is done, you should come to America, mate. I can't even begin to tell you how liberating it has been to not have people recognize my family name."

Draco had laughed sarcastically. "By the time my 'parole' is done, I'll be an old man. I don't think the ministry has any intentions of ever giving me any actual freedom back."

Leaving England sounded nice though. He imagined walking down the street without anyone flinching or pointing. _Just like at the market with Granger…_ Draco groaned again. Apparently even a hangover couldn't clear his mind of the witch.

Plinky appeared next to his bed with a tray holding a hangover potion and a piece of toast.

"Plinky brought Master something to feel better with." She said in her squeaky little voice that sounded suspiciously like a jackhammer inside his skull. "And a letter that just arrived for Master." She set the tray down on his nightstand and handed him the potion.

"Thank you Plinky. You are wonderful."

The house elf smiled at him and left his room. Draco carefully rolled to his side and drank the potion down. It worked fairly fast, and he grabbed the letter from the tray, wondering who was writing him. He didn't recognize the writing on the outside addressing the letter to him.

 _Malfoy,_

 _I'm honestly not sure what happened last Sunday, and I am sorry if I said something to upset you. I want you to know, I am deeply grateful for your help. The potion finally turned out as it should and will be helpful to many people suffering from those specific high fevers. As it has now been stable for a week. I will be presenting it at work and would like your permission to include the altered recipe in the presentation. If that is agreeable, how much information would you like to include? Please let me know when you might have time to meet and discuss._

 _Sincerely, Hermione Granger._

The letter was short and to the point, just as he would have expected of Granger. Her apology at the end made him feel somewhat nauseous though. She thought she had upset him, when he had been the one acting like an ass and then storming out.

He was done being a coward. He would meet with her, help her write up the recipe, and then offer her an apology for all the things he had done to her during and before the war. He owed her that. Perhaps then, he would finally be able to get the Gryffindor witch out of his mind once and for all.


End file.
